Weakness
by Phantasm.Angel
Summary: A one-shot and a tragedy.


The people Viridian City met the sunrise the way it had for the last twenty years, by not even noticing it. It's not like you could blame them though, the pollution was so intense that only a scarce few of the sun's warming rays made it into the heart of the city. People were already up and about; either taking breaks from their job at the factory that now dominated the town and surrounding area or going out to get their morning paper. One could scan the headlines and get a sense of what had happened here, what had gone wrong, but all one could gleam was that a dozen minor and major Pokémon tournaments were being held today. No mention was made of skyrocketing cancer rates or the growing tensions between regions. For the people of Viridian, every waking hour was spent on Pokémon battling. When they weren't supervising the machines that produced Carbos, Protein, and the like, the average citizen could be found lounging on their couch, eagerly digging into their TV dinner as their eyes watched the sort of brutality that a mere ten years ago would have been unthinkable to broadcast.

Now, it would be a lie to say that Viridian City was completely quiet at this time of day. The sound of shoes clapping on harsh pavement readily met one's ears, as did the muttered greetings and hacking coughs that seemed to be the only form of communication between the city dwellers. One man in particular, a foreman at the plant, was enjoying another fifteen minute break before he was called back to try and cut costs and increase productivity. His shoes made a steady clip-clop as he walked over to the local newsstand and took a copy of the day's Viridian Globe. He leafed through it, uninterested in much of the latest information on rising stars in the Kanto circuit. Rather he opened up to the obituaries section. He often joked to his few friends that it was like reading his horoscope, if any of the upper-level managers had died, chances were there could be a promotion in his future.

As he read, he heard a rustling noise. He ignored it; after all, it was probably only the wind. Classic mistake. The rustling grew louder and even the man in the newsstand, half-deaf as he was, heard it. Both put aside their respective readings and squinted into the dense fog. A small shape could be made out emerging from what little foliage still existed outside of the city's parameters. As it grew closer and closer, the details became more defined. Both men could make out a brown and cream coat, and a long sinewy body, perfect for squeezing into tight places. It was something that hadn't been seen in Viridian in five years, a wild Pokémon.

But this thought was shattered as the men saw two figures running after the Pokémon. They were tall, humans, wearing all black and wearing belts that did nothing to hide their military grade handguns and their numerous Poké Balls. This wasn't a wild Pokémon; it was a rogue, an escapee from the Pallet Facility. The man in the newsstand leaped off his chair with a swiftness that was surprising given his age and ducked behind the cheap walls of his business. His customer was not nearly as lucky, he had greatly overestimated the distance between himself and the Pokémon, who darted in between his legs, ignoring the hacked curses that followed. The man fell to the concrete, hard. He held his hands out to brace his fall, which they did an admirable job of doing. His relief was cut short as his bent over body was slammed into by the first pursuer, causing him to spill to his side, wincing in pain. The man paid no attention to him, leaping over his collapsed form and continued his chase.

The other man, slightly older than his partner, made the deliberate point of stepping on the fallen man's outstretched hand, crushing his fingers under a military boot. Once he was satisfied with the howls of pain emanating from his pathetic victim, the black-suited man removed his foot and ran off to rejoin his partner. The two men hurried through the rest of the town, now practically deserted. This was merely a routine for the Viridian citizens now. Pokémon escaped from the facility to the South all of the time. No one knew what went on there, and no questions were asked. All the average townsperson knew was that it involved training Pokémon for battle and that Pallet was a major market for the stat boosters produced at the factory. Everyone knew what to do, stay out of the way and let the professionals do their jobs.

The two men stopped outside of what used to be the Viridian Forest. The years of dumping chemicals in there had transformed it into something out of a nightmare. Trees grew in twisted structures, branches resembling grasping arms more than sturdy limbs. The leaves and grass were a sight as well: sickly shades of gray with pale spots of yellow and green scattered throughout the forest. Thorny brambles and a dense canopy made the inside of the forest seem more sinister, as it reduced the already paltry amount of light. The older of the men smiled and slapped his companion on the back, "Well, rookie, you wanted your first field assignment, and here ya' go." The man reached for the Poké Ball on his belt and thumbed the button, releasing a fierce looking bug Pokémon covered in dented and scratched crimson armor.

"Wait, where are you going?" the younger man asked, scratching his blond hair with one gloved hand.

The older man nodded briefly at his Pokémon, who proceeded to hack a sapling to bits, just off to the side of the entrance to the forest. "I'm going to Pewter so we can cut the lil' bastard off if he thinks about escaping," and with that the conversation was over as the older man followed his Scizor in the side path to Pewter City.

The other man swore under his breath and removed his gun from his holster before stepping into the forest through the ruins of the gatehouse that had fallen into disrepair after the Pokémon left the forest. Once past that, the man nervously checked his weapon. He was new to this, and finding a rogue in a hellish forest was not how he wanted to spend his first assignment. The job was simple enough: find the Furret and kill it. It was a gruesome sort of assignment, especially as a first. The man shuddered, hoping his partner would take care of it. The last time he had shot something, it was when he was eight. The Pidgey had just crumpled to the ground, opening and closing its beak slowly. He still had nightmares about that.

As he rounded the next gnarled tree, the black-suited man grew more nervous. Sweat was beginning to collect itself on his forehead, a rare occurrence for anyone since the Chill of twelve years ago. Slowly, he swung his gun around in a low arc, trying to catch a glimpse of his target. Suddenly, he felt a ball of fur and claw hit him like a bullet, taking him well off his feet. Sharp teeth sunk into his wrist, causing him to drop his gun into the soft mud beside him. He reached for it, only to have a brown paw smack it into the bushes. Now, this was probably the worst-case scenario he could have been in: on his back in the dirt while a probably rabid Pokémon looked forward to disemboweling him. Not fun.

At an instant, his hesitation was replaced with primal rage and survival instinct. With a burst of adrenaline, the man delivered a swift kick to the Furret that sent it hurtling into the rotted trunk of a nearby tree, as well as flipping him onto his stomach. Wincing, he rose to his feet, covered in mud and clutching his hand in agony. "You're going to pay for that," he muttered, and released his hand, ignoring the flowing blood, to grab his single Poké Ball. Grimacing, he rotated the sphere in his hand until it was comfortable, and then pushed the button, revealing a large, bipedal yellow Pokémon that looked like a cross between a monkey and an electrical outlet.

Meanwhile, the normal Pokémon had also risen to its feet, and now it looked at its foes with pure and utter hatred. Without a warning though, it leapt at Electivire, growling with teeth and claws outstretched, ready for a battle to the death. It hit the electric type right in its massive barreled chest. Frantic scratching and biting made the Pokémon cringe, but more so from annoyance than from any actual damage being done. With one massive yellow hand, the rodent was lifted off of its opponent's chest and thrown to the ground, coughing as instead of finding fur and flesh, it found only the taste of mud.

"Electivire," the man said, "hit it with a Thunderbolt." The Pokémon gave no sign to its trainer that he had even heard the command, except by building up a huge flow of electricity throughout his body, centering it in his hands. The rogue was clever though, and began burrowing into the soft ground. The man couldn't help but admire the ingeniousness of his foe. But the mud had a consistency of molasses, and no matter how furiously the normal type's paws dug, fresh mud and bits of dirt managed to seep in. The end result was a meager hole that provided no protection when he Electivire unleashed his attack.

Sharp jagged streams of electricity shot out of the Pokémon's yellow palms, hitting the rogue directly in the stomach, sending sparks coursing through the long creature's body. It coughed and glared at the man, sending a shiver down his spine. The Pokémon was tenacious, no doubt about it. Its animal hostility made the human feel as if he was the criminal, the monster. This fight needed to be finished, and fast.

A short glance passed between the trainer and his Pokémon. "Finish it with a Cross Chop," he said. Complying, the massive Electivire raised one arm and then the other in a bizarre form of cross-armed salute. Then, one hand swung down on the fallen Furret, crumpling his body with the force of the blow. It was painful to watch, as the Pokémon's growls and hisses turned into whimpers and bones. But before the other arm could connect, the man held up his hand to his Pokémon, telling it to stop. The Furret was just like the Pidgey from years ago; its breathing was in short ragged gasps, and its body was broken beyond repair. And its mouth opened slowly, revealing a small pink tongue, before closing at the same speed. The man took a step towards his fallen foe, whose head was halfway buried in the mud. Tears were flowing from the rogue's eyes, no matter how tightly clenched its eyes were. The man kneeled down, pressing his already ruined left pants leg further into the soft ground. "Run," he whispered, unsure of what he was saying, "get as far away from here as possible."

With that, he rose to his feet and began to walk away. His job was to collect Pokémon like this and dispose of them; they were rogues, dangers to everyone. But here he was, faced with a Pokémon that had hopes and dreams like any other. It was full of spirit and drive, things that were supposed to be bred out of them. What's more, he wasn't doing his job, his solemn duty to get rid of rabid monsters like this. But, just like the Pidgey, the idea of killing a creature was disgusting to him. Soon, the nightmares were going to come, and there wasn't a thing he could do to stop them. This contemplation was cut off by a single shot, and the muffled footsteps that followed it.

The younger man turned around to see his partner, holding his gun towards the ground, grinning at him. The Furret had a hole blown through its skull and its fluids seeped into the mud below it. "Scum put up a better fight than you thought, eh?" he asked, oblivious to his partner's discomfort.

"Yeah," the blonde said, looking sadly at the broken ruined body of the Pokémon he had been sent out to kill, "a lot of spirit in that one."

"Huh? Well, such a shame that he had a Calm nature then!"


End file.
